


Sent and Received

by dieofthatroar



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Co-workers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Rom-com, Texting, Workplace Relationship, emailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16818721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dieofthatroar/pseuds/dieofthatroar
Summary: Bitty and Kent text office gossip and clubbing plansBitty and Jack email dinner reservations and professional documentsKent and Jack... Bitty has no idea what's up with them.When Bitty and Kent get a new boss in Jack Zimmermann, everyone needs to chill.





	Sent and Received

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingonpostcards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/gifts).



> To be honest, a light-hearted rom-com was SO DIFFICULT for me to write because my mind is set to angst at baseline and I couldn't have done it without Veekay and her midnight text suggestions.

Bitty’s first job out of college was a complete disaster. Not the sort of disaster that ended with him out on the street begging for pennies, no. He could afford that dingy little apartment in Somerville. It didn’t result in smoke and fire trucks, or cops and apologies. He’d leave that in college, thank you very much.

But it was the sort of disaster that eventually ended with him on the floor of Lardo’s kitchen crying into an open bag of flour.

“I hate it!” he said as the timer dinged on the counter.

“I told you it wouldn’t be what you imagined it’d be.”

“The hours!” Bitty said as he stood, trailing flour behind him. “Do you know how many mini pumpkin pies I had to bake yesterday?”

“No more than you did for Holster’s birthday a couple years back.”

“But I did that out of love,” Bitty said. He took the bread out of the oven. It smelled of rosemary and heartbreak. “The awful woman who picked up that order said they looked underbaked!”

“I doubt it.”

“Who says they weren’t?” Bitty said. “Maybe I did screw up. I had hardly slept the night before and I was practically shaking because I needed my second cup of coffee but I didn’t have time to brew it before I had to open.”

“I told you it would be like this.”

“What if I end up hating baking?” Bitty said, turning the oven off.

Lardo crossed her arms across her chest, trying hard to ignore the dirty mixing bowls scattered across her counter. “So quit.”

Bitty’s hands stopped over the cooling rack. “What?”

“Quit the job. That bakery doesn’t deserve you.”

“This is the only thing I’m good at.”

“Bits, you’re an idiot,” Lardo said. “And there’s this friend of a friend who says his company is hiring. Entry level marketing, you’d be great at it.”

Bitty’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Quit…?”

Lardo shook her head and left Bitty to his bread and life crisis.

He started at Ace Shot Sporting Goods the next week.

* * *

Bitty’s second job out of college went a lot smoother than his first. He was promoted just a few months after starting when the higher-ups finally accepted he would do what he wanted with the Instagram profile, no matter what others told him, so might as well give him the authority to make those decisions. Now, two years later, nobody dared question his social media genius. The 9-5 workday with healthcare benefits and a generous holiday schedule was also better than the 4am start times and busy Thanksgiving and Christmas deadlines at the bakery. He moved out of his dingy Somerville apartment into a slightly larger dingy Somerville apartment with a better oven and Lardo. And, the best perk of all, these suits actually thanked him for his baking.

Especially one in particular.

“Yo, Bits,” Kent said, leaning against his cubicle wall. “I just watched Kevin shove an entire muffin his mouth and take two more to go.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bitty said.

“ _And_ I heard that Lisa took two whole pies you brought to the party last week to bribe Kaitlyn into keeping some sort of secret about her and Dennis.”

“What did I tell you about poking into other people’s business?”

Kent sighed. “To only tell you if I had complete information.”

“Exactly,” Bitty said. Frowned. “Dennis?”

“I know!” Kent said. “Can you imagine?”

“Two whole pies…” Bitty shook his head. “And that’s exactly why I bake the break room batch and my personal batch.”

“Also why I love you,” Kent said, hand reaching around his shoulder to grab at an open plate next to his computer. “Even if you’re making me fat.”

Bitty slapped it away.

“Not if you only eat what’s offered to you,” Bitty said, swiveling around. “And lord if anyone can find a single inch of fat on you.”

Kent pouted. “Do you know how long I was at the gym yesterday to burn off those cookies?”

“Yes I do,” Bitty said. “I got the whole snapchat story.”

“Worth it,” he said, reaching again for the lone muffin on Bitty’s desk.

Bitty sighed, digging into his bag to pull out the rest of the ziplock bag of baked goods he’d separated from the rest. “Don’t go stealing my breakfast when you know I have some for you.”

Kent grinned that famous grin, teeth bright and eyes glinting. Bitty could almost imagine the commercial soundtrack in the background, pink sparkle background and the announcer pushing for a new hair product or mouthwash. Kent Parson, in the sales department, been at the company for about a year more than Bitty. The famous friend of a friend Lardo had first talked about, and now, Bitty’s favorite person at the company, despite his grabby hands and the casual way he ruffled Bitty’s hair as he accepted the bag. Despite every warning Lardo gave him to not even think about going down that road with him.

Bitty couldn’t help but stare, just a little. It wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“How did I survive before you?” Kent asked. He ripped a part off the top of a poppy seed muffin and stuffed it in his mouth. “You still on for Club Cafe tonight?”

Bitty sighed. “Again? What about a change in venue for once?”

“D bar?”

“You’re so predictable.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” Kent said. “If you really don’t—”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Bitty said. “Who else will be your conscious?”

“I have fine taste in men, thank you very much.”

“Even that one time when you went home with the guy who asked you to put on that dog suit…”

“How could I have known he was a furry?”

“Or,” Bitty continued, “that one guy who spiked your drink when you were dancing…”

“Ok, I get it. What would I do without you?” Kent said.

“Die, dressed in nothing but dog ears, passed out on the curb.”

“Aren’t I lucky?” Kent grazed his fingers across Bitty’s arm and Bitty hated that it gave him chills. Hated that he wanted to ask Kent to keep his hands on his shoulder, but instead chose to roll his eyes and turn back to his computer.

“Get back to work, Mr. Parson.”

Kent laughed. “I’ll pick you up at ten.”

* * *

_Kent (2:11pm): found out that Lisa had just asked Dennis if his brother was available_

_Eric (2:12pm): Dennis’ brother? That guy with the three-piece suit and a terrible Freddie Mercury impression? He was worth two of my pies?_

_Kent (2:15pm): the fact that hes married to a man apparently is_

_Eric (2:15pm): Of course he’s gay. My pies could have told you that_

_Kent (2:16pm): on behalf of Lisa, Dennis, Dennis’ brother, and his husband, I apologize for how they degraded your baking_

_Eric (2:22pm): I accept your apology._

* * *

It was dumb to drive to Back Bay. The subways would take him straight there, or they could get an Uber to drop them off, but Kent always insisted on driving. It always took them half an hour to find somewhere to park, deciding if resident-only parking really meant resident-only parking, or if they should just cough up the money to get into one of those garages. Kent had, though some magic Bitty still hadn’t figured out, only got a ticket twice. As it was, they always stepped into the door to the club way later than they intended.

But here was the thing about Kent, Bitty could never say no.

He’d made a pact with himself early on, as soon as those blue-gray eyes caught his and Lardo frowned her _not if you respect yourself_ frown, that he would only ever be Kent’s friend. Bitty saw for himself quickly how easily others swooned and fell for the very same eyes. A smirk and a nod to the dance floor was all Kent needed to find his bedmate for the night.

Bitty wished it was as easy for him. Every time he tried the same smirk and nod, the guy would ask him if he felt sick.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Kent said as sidled up to him, multicolored lights bouncing off his cheeks. When he put a hand on Bitty’s elbow, Bitty brushed it away as casually as he was able.

“About what exactly that boy is doing with his hips.” Bitty winced.

"Not anyone can be as coordinated as you." 

“He looks like he’s going to hurt himself.”

“Oh, don’t make fun of Jacob," Kent said. "He’s trying his best.”

“Oh of course. _Jacob_.”

Kent rolled his eyes. “He hasn’t asked me about dog collars or acting for his porno or anything else you warn me about.”

“For good reason!”

“Look at him,” Kent said. Jacob had tripped over someone’s foot and was now rubbing his ankle. “He’s harmless.”

“Unless you decide to dance with him.”

“Dance? No,” Kent said. “In all other activities, I promise to be safe.” He downed the rest of the drink in one gulp and turned back toward the crowd, putting one hand up to wave away the rest of Bitty’s concerns.

Bitty tried his best to remember why he did this to himself. He put an image of that boy from college in his head, dark eyes and a wicked smile he had fallen for so easily. It was torture, remembering how five months of dating had fallen apart so quickly when he found he had never stopped sleeping around with other guys.

A misunderstanding, that boy had said. Bitty was mortified. They stopped seeing each other and Bitty tried to convince himself for the rest of the year that it was casual on his end too. That he hadn’t imagined an apartment together after graduation where he’d cook brownies in their shared oven and kiss him when he’d returned from work. That he hadn’t picked out the backsplash for that kitchen or the bedspread for their room.

The worst part was they were both a part of the same friend group. A friend group he’d stopped spending much time with after that because Bitty couldn’t stop thinking they were all laughing at his stupidity behind his back. Lardo had been his savior that year.

“Kent’s wonderful,” Lardo had said before she’d introduced them when Bitty was still red-eyed and sulking on her floor. “But I’m warning you, he’s never satisfied with any one guy. Don’t go there. I can’t see you hurt like that again.”

So, now, Bitty bit his lip and watched Kent walk into the center of the dance floor, going after another one of those guys. The endless stream that Kent would later complain about, sprawled out on Bitty’s couch with a glass of wine hand. Too dull. Too much. Too clingy. But always, a good fuck.

Friend. Bitty reminded himself. That was what Kent was best as, his friend. Nothing more, because he wouldn’t be able to let go.

He paid for his drink and walked himself to the subway station, leaving Kent and his car for whoever would be next for Kent’s bed.

* * *

Come Monday, the new excitement in the office was the slick new project manager put in charge of the next campaign. Bitty heard the news as soon as he walked in, croissants in hand, but he hadn’t seen this man in person yet.

“Came from some time out of the country, from what I hear,” Lisa said. “Top business school grad, learning international trade and all that.”

Sounded pretty standard to Bitty for the younger management they’ve had. Rich kids who ease through post-grad and travel the world before they’re 25.

“Oh, what a gorgeous smile,” Sarah from HR said. “And he’s so tall.”

Bitty shook his head. Sarah thought every new recruit was eye candy.

“He’s the big boss’s son,” Kevin explained when Bitty arrived at his desk. “He’s been groomed for taking over the company since he was a kid.”

Bitty moved his paperwork off to the side and turned on his computer. It wasn’t that surprising. He’d heard rumors of this famed son before.

Bitty clicked around his desktop, opening his latest marketing project spreadsheet and double checking the day’s meeting schedule before opening his email. There, waiting at the top, was an email from the new manager himself.

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Team meeting and reorientation_
> 
> Dear Mr. Bittle,
> 
> I require your presence at a meeting regarding the fall campaign. I’ll see you at 2pm sharp today at the south side boardroom.
> 
> Jack Zimmermann

Bitty sighed. He already had a 1:30 meeting with the graphic designers, but this Mr. Zimmermann Jr. didn’t sound like the type to care about the convenience of his workers.

He picked up the phone and dialed the design office, apology ready on his lips.

* * *

_Eric (8:57am): Did you hear about the boss’s son?_

_Kent (9:20am): you told me not to tell you if I had nothing to say_

> * * *
> 
> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> To: Eric Bittle
> 
> Re: Project check-in
> 
> Dear Mr. Bittle,
> 
> It has come to my attention that our publicity team does not yet have a date set for the launch of the video series. I know I don’t need to ask you twice to make sure you coordinate dates company-wide.
> 
> Jack Zimmermann.

> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _Re: Project check-in_
> 
> Dear Mr. Zimmermann,
> 
> Our publicity team is fully aware of the dates, but I have reattached the timeline for your convenience.
> 
> Eric Bittle

* * *

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Project timing_
> 
> Dear Mr. Bittle,
> 
> There seems to have been a miscommunication regarding the initiation of the print campaign. See forwarded questions raised by your colleagues. Care to clarify?
> 
> Jack Zimmermann.

> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _Re: Project timing_
> 
> Dear Mr. Zimmermann,
> 
> I appreciate the concern, but with all due respect, we are able to handle this line of communication within marketing.
> 
> Eric Bittle

* * *

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Any updates on this?_
> 
> Dear Mr. Bittle,
> 
> Just wondering if you could send over the latest draft of the campaign copy.
> 
> Thanks in advance,
> 
> Jack Zimmermann.

> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _Re: Any updates on this?_
> 
> Dear Mr. Zimmermann,
> 
> Per our last conversation, I do have the copy of the campaign ready for your approval. However, as you stated, we need to have it seen by legal first. My understanding was that you’d like the final draft.
> 
> Eric Bittle

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Any updates on this?_
> 
> Dear Mr. Bittle,
> 
> Send the current draft to me
> 
> Jack Zimmermann.

“Arghhh,” Bitty said, throwing his phone down onto the pillows. “He doesn’t stop! Do this, do that. Does this man go home? It’s eight at night, lord, who is reading copy edits before bed?”

“That is his job,” Lardo said.

“A thank you once in a while should also be part of his job,” Bitty said. “Kent, hun, can I use your computer?”

Kent’s hands were in Kit’s fur as he glanced up, and it was clear he had been paying absolutely no attention to the conversation going on in his living room. “Why?”

“To send our glorious leader the draft he’s so eagerly awaiting.”

“Don’t do that,” Kent said. “You’re off work.”

“But—”

“But nothing. You aren’t paid to work right now, he can’t expect you to answer every time he calls.” Kent’s words sounded more bitter than Bitty expected them to. It wasn’t as if Kent spent much time working with Jack Zimmermann. The work he was doing was tangential at best, so he wondered where that hostility in his tone came from.

Bitty’s mouth twisted. “If he’s really waiting on it though…”

“He’ll work on it in the morning, then,” Kent said. “Now, you’ve been telling me about this new show for weeks. Are we going to watch or not?”

Kent’s fingers were still restless in Kit’s fur, petting her just a little too hard. She squirmed and hissed, batting Kent’s hands away. But at the same time, there was Kent’s signature pout. His head tilt and model stare that Bitty was sure he’d learned from his cat.

Bitty huffed.

“Fine,” Bitty said and stood. “Let me get our snacks.”

On the way to the kitchen, Lardo leaned in, voice an edge darker than playful. “You’re weak.”

“Shush.”

* * *

_ACE pack group chat, Alice (9:39am): I hear Jack Zimmermann grew up in a compound outside Montreal._

_ACE pack group chat, Zach (9:40am): I heard it was more of a mansion_

_ACE pack group chat, Eric (9:45am): Why would he live in Montreal if his dad lives here?_

_ACE pack group chat, Zach (9:46am): Boarding school?_

_ACE pack group chat, Kent (9:51am): I hear Jack Zimmermann owns three tiger cubs he rescued on a mission trip to India_

_ACE pack group chat, Alice (9:55am): Aren’t tigers endangered?_

_ACE pack group chat, Eric (9:57am): … Alice…_

* * *

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Any updates on this?_
> 
> Dear Mr. Bittle,
> 
> Thank you for your prompt response. I apologize if my previous correspondence was terse. Keep up the excellent work.
> 
> Jack Zimmermann.

* * *

That weekend, Bitty found himself elbow deep in peaches. He’d assigned Kent to the measuring cups, because the last time he’d let him use a knife it ended with a trip to the emergency room, three stitches (for Kent), and an hour of uncontrollable bawling (Bitty).

“I’ve learned Bits,” Kent whined. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not,” Bitty said. He hated blood, especially coming out of people he knew. Especially when he felt like it was his fault. “Now pass me that sugar.”

There was something special about Sunday mornings. The way the sun shone into the window over the kitchen sink and made the glass bowls scattered around the counter sparkle, or the fact that Lardo slept late and never minded when he would blast his playlists and dance around in his socks and boxers. Then, around 11, Kent would come knocking. He’d bring mimosas in the summer, mulled wine in the winter, and whiskey for Irish red-eyes if he’d had a bad week. They’d talk about everything except what work awaited them come Monday.

Kent would switch the playlists and Bitty would pretend to be upset before giving in and singing along.

“Pour me another, would you, hun?” Bitty said, passing his empty glass to Kent.

“As you wish,” Kent said. He broke half of a stick of celery to toss into the thick bloody mary mix, using it to stir in the alcohol.

Bitty took generous gulps, soaking in the filtered sun and losing himself in the scent of simmering jam. Listening to Kent talk about everything and nothing at all.

“...so, then Alice tried to go home with this girl she met at Denny’s—”

“After she threw up?” Bitty said.

“Oh, she was already on her second pile of pancakes by the time this girl came through, from what I understand. Riding out her blackout with a milkshake and midnight breakfast.”

“And she, what, just asked out this girl at 2am under the romantic fluorescent lights?”

“I think the direct quote was, _I think your socks are pretty, can I show you my pet fish?”_ Kent said.

“And that worked?”

“Of course not,” Kent laughed. “Lisa took her home before she could embarrass herself even more.”

“Well,” Bitty said, smirking. “I’m glad she enjoyed her pancakes.”

Kent made a face and poured them both more wine.

* * *

_Eric (3:06pm): Prepare yourself for war._

_Kent (3:07pm): what happened??_

_Eric (3:07pm): Lisa suggested that I went a little heavy on the SALT in my focaccia._

_Kent (3:08pm): and?_

_Eric (3:10pm): And nothing! She is clearly JEALOUS that I took head on that last project over her and that she needed my PIES as a bribe and she is clearly attacking my character._

_Kent (3:11pm): yo i think thats all you. she’s just being literal_

_Kent (3:11pm): she doesn’t have the bandwidth for covert tactics_

_Eric (3:12pm): HOW DARE YOU KENNETH PARSON SUGGEST_

_Eric (3:12pm): KENDRA PARSON I WILL NOT TAKE THIS SORT OF SLANDER_

_Eric (3:12pm): KENDRICK PARSON I TRUSTED YOU_

_Kent (3:14pm): ^._.^_

* * *

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Lunch meeting_
> 
> Dear Mr. Bittle,
> 
> I feel as if we’ve begun on the wrong foot. Let me extend my apologies and propose we set aside time to talk through the campaign in person. Are you free for a lunch meeting this Wednesday?
> 
> Jack Zimmermann

“What does this even mean?” Bitty said, showing the email to Kent Monday afternoon. “He’s constantly on my case about these projects, and then suddenly he just wants to chat?”

Kent’s eyes skimmed over the screen with little interest. “Maybe he’s just bad at being a manager.”

Bitty snorted. “I wish I could afford to be bad at my job after those degrees.”

“Or, he’s just trying his best.”

Bitty frowned. “Sure,” he said, slowly, watching how Kent put a hand through his hair and busied himself with a pen he’d nicked from the cup on Lisa’s desk.

Work Kent was, interestingly, not someone Bitty interacted with all that much. Sure, he was the reason Bitty had this job at all, but besides working under the same roof, their days had little in common. The texting wasn’t the same as being in the same meetings and the smart suit and button down made him look too formal for the Kent he knew. The few times he’d watched Kent working his clients, it was a surprise. Kent knew all too well that a smile would get him most anything he wanted, it worked well with their clients, but it made Bitty’s stomach churn. No, it made him feel a little empty like Kent was a doll on a shelf made only to be pretty. Play pretend. Was it all worth the success?

“So, are you going to go?” Kent asked.

“Do I have a choice? He’s my boss.”

Kent shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he controls your life. He’s just a person.”

“Still no gossip on him?” Bitty asked, hoping he could tease something out. Something, before he went in there himself.

“Nothing but unicorns and fairy tales,” Kent said, lips twisting.

Bitty frowned. “What’s goin’ on in your head?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Kent said, too quickly. “I’ve got to go. Talia’s going to wring my neck if I’m late again.”

Bitty watched Kent disappear around the banks of elevators, wishing the light of Sunday mornings stayed with both of them past those few magical hours. Wished that he could have them here, to make each work day a little brighter. But then, those mornings wouldn’t be so special, would they?

> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _Re: Lunch meeting_
> 
> Dear Mr. Zimmermann,
> 
> I’d love to go through our plans over lunch. I have to say, after looking at the menu for your suggested location, I’m surprised. You, sir, have better taste than I expected.
> 
> Eric Bittle

* * *

When Bitty was a kid, he’d learned very quickly what it meant to speak in riddles. His family were professionals in gossiping under the table, with insults dressed in the shine of praise. It became second nature to smile and flatter when Uncle Larry joked about what he was doing in that liberal college in the north and to blush and tut when his neighbor Jane compared her fruit tart with his.

So, Bitty wasn’t afraid of meeting with his boss. Of course, he wasn’t. Even if he didn’t know what to say, his tongue always did.

Or, that’s what he expected.

“Hello Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said as he slid into his seat.

He looked away, pushing dark hair out of eyes he could imagine his mother comparing to robin’s eggs. “We haven’t spoken much outside of our morning conferences, have we?”

“No, I guess—”

“Call me Jack. Please.”

“Jack,” Bitty said and thought it suited the unsure rise of his eyebrows more than Mr. Zimmermann. “Well, Jack. Besides indulging myself in the best french omelet in Boston, what exactly are we doing here?”

“It’s been… brought to my attention… that I’ve been unfair to many of my best workers,” Jack said.

“And you’re inviting all of them to lunch, are you?”

He smiled, just enough for Bitty to glimpse a flash of white teeth. “I should be more clear. It was brought to my attention that I was unfair to you, Eric. You deserved better.”

And it was that smile that confused Bitty the most. He could handle underhanded manipulation—a boss making nice just so he’d finish his projects earlier—but Jack’s eyes were much too innocent for that. Bitty learned the language of bitter compliments, but it was not what Jack was using. It felt like unsteady ground here.

“I brought the mock-ups from our designers,” Bitty said because at least he felt comfortable with what work needed to be done. “Just came in this morning. I thought you’d want to take a look.”

“Absolutely,” Jack said and leaned in.

* * *

> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _Re: Lunch meeting_
> 
> Jack,
> 
> I talked to our designers to try that page in green. Not because I’m admitting it’ll look good, I still find your color coordinating skills lacking, but because I think their answer will prove my point. I believe you’ll see reason in the end.
> 
> Eric
> 
> P.s. I took a poll (I asked everyone at their desks when I got back) and 5 out of 6 people knew what that song was. The last person doesn’t count because Mike hasn’t listened to anything except the Beatles since 2006.

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Lunch meeting_
> 
> Eric,
> 
> Green is a perfectly reasonable color.
> 
> Jack
> 
> P.s. send me the album so I can listen for myself. (Email it? Give me a link? How does that work?)

* * *

_Eric (1:25pm): Boss goss update. He did not, in fact, go to boarding school but he did grow up speaking Quebecois._

_Kent (2:03pm): ok_

_Eric (2:07pm): His best friend at college once tried to set him up with a girl but neither of them knew it was a date so they just studied instead_

_Kent (2:10pm): please dont start telling me about our boss’ sexual escapades_

_Eric (2:12pm): Despite his upbringing, I deem that he has a rather poor taste in cheese._

_Kent (2:13pm): see thats the sort of gossip i need_

* * *

Kent folded over his seat, forehead to his desk. “Bits, I’m _tired.”_

Bitty gave him a swift _pat pat_ on the head. “That may be true, but it is also entirely your fault. I have no sympathy.”

“But _Bitty_ the room decided it doesn’t want to sit still. It’s not me…”

“I made you my famous hangover cocktail. Drink up, then we’ll talk.”

Kent looked up, eyes bloodshot. “But you said I should celebrate,” he said. “I finished that project before the deadline and you _said_ I deserve a break.”

“A break,” Bitty said. “Not a Sunday night on the town.”

Kent sniffed at the container Bitty set down on his desk and wrinkled his nose. “And now I think I deserve comfort, not this torture. Is the ceiling fan _always_ that loud?”

“Hun, this is my comfort,” Bitty said, turning to leave. “Don’t be late for that meeting with Talia.”

The echo of Kent’s groan followed him out into the hall and he almost, _almost,_ felt bad for him. But in the end, it was his own damn fault.

* * *

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _[No Subject]_
> 
> Eric,
> 
> Jack

  


> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: [No Subject]_
> 
> Eric,
> 
> Please disregard my last email it was sent by mistake.
> 
> Jack

  


> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: [No Subject]_
> 
> Eric,
> 
> Would you like to go to lunch again?
> 
> Jack

* * *

The next morning, Bitty arrived to work to find a small package on his desk in cellophane and red tissue paper. He sat down, untied the bow, and carefully unwrapped the package. Inside, was the cookbook he’d had in his amazon shopping cart for months, but never allowed himself to buy. Too much of a luxury, he’d told himself, just because it was a famous pastry chef didn’t mean it was good. The publisher spent so much on nice paper for the photos, when all he wanted were the recipes. He’d buy it when it went on sale. Or maybe just wait for his birthday or Christmas…

He may have mentioned it once or twice.

A note was tucked into the front, written in purple glitter ink.

_I’m sorry for yesterday morning. Your help is always appreciated and never earned. I hope you enjoy this (you’ve been hinting at wanting it for months, so for your own good, I hope you do)._

_-Kent_

_p.s. this is not a bribe, but if you feel like baking the one on page 51, I would love to be a taste tester_

At the bottom, he drew a sketch of Kit in a baker’s hat and oven mitts.

Bitty folded the paper so just the drawing was visible and pinned it to his cubicle wall before sitting down and allowing himself some time to read.

Just fifteen minutes. His emails could wait.

* * *

_Eric (9:11pm): I’ll do you one better. I’ll make you 51 and 22._

_Kent (9:12pm): !_

_Kent (9:12pm): which one is 22 please tell me its the one with all that chocolate_

_Kent (9:12pm): or the one with the strawberries in that arrangement that makes it look like a star and is too complicated for its own good but wow looks amazing_

_Kent (9:13pm): ok i might have read the whole thing_

_Kent (9:13pm): it made me really hungry_

_Eric (9:15pm): the chocolate one_

_Eric (9:15pm): (thank you, by the way)_

* * *

> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _Re: [No Subject]_
> 
> Jack,
> 
> I’d love to go to lunch with you again.
> 
> Eric

* * *

> _Kent Parson_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re:_ re: _fwd:_ re: _unsolicited Kit pics_
> 
> We are completely out of staples. We are all blaming Dennis.

> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Kent Parson_
> 
> _Re:_ re: _fwd:_ re: _unsolicited Kit pics_
> 
> Did Dennis get into the supply closet? Again??

> _Kent Parson_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re:_ re: _fwd:_ re: _unsolicited Kit pics_
> 
> Dennis and his craft projects…….
> 
> We’re giving the key to Sarah this time. She won’t cave to his bribery.

* * *

Despite how much time they’ve spent together in the last couple of years, Bitty still didn’t know much about Kent’s life before he joined the company. Kent was just like that, always talking about everyone else but himself. Shrugging away questions like they were small annoyances, and redirecting the attention to others. “Oh, that’s not an interesting story. I’d love to hear about that job you took in London that year…” Like he wasn’t worth the effort of explanation, or that he was simply not worth it. Bitty doubted it, but never pushed him.

Bitty knew his sister—he’d met Katie a few times when she’d come up to Boston from New York City where she had gone to school and then started working. She was quick-witted and took none of Kent’s constant deflections. It was during their brunches and late night wine-drunk conversations that Bitty learned about Kent’s childhood. That their father that had left when they were still young, and their mother tried her best but could hardly keep up with the bills, even while taking more and more overnight shifts at the hospital. She worked holidays for the pay. She worked weekends for the pay. Kent and Katie made haphazard turkey dinners for two as they decorated the Christmas tree and watched holiday specials on TV.

“She makes it sound like it was straight out of Oliver Twist,” Kent scoffed. “We were fine.”

And then, there was a mystery boy. Someone Kent met in high school—a friend, or more than a friend, Bitty could never tell. An inseparable pair, as Katie described them, though Bitty could never catch a name. Kent had glared at her each time she brought it up like the name was a curse and just the memory of this boy was taboo. Bitty wondered if he was the reason Kent flitted from one bed to another, easy smile and hands over stranger’s asses in dark clubs. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Kent and this boy had broken apart because Kent wanted something the other could not give.

Bitty wondered but didn’t say anything. But he thought, now more than ever, that if he knew—if he just understood what went on in Kent’s head—he could navigate Kent’s strange morals. The lines he could cross and couldn’t, and when it was okay to lean into him as they both fell asleep in front of the TV as the fifth episode of Great British Bake Off they watched that night played on, and when he should step back, as another stranger took his place on the dance floor.

“So,” Bitty said when it was just him and Kent alone in the break room. “I have some more boss goss for you.”

Kent didn’t say anything. The coffee machine rumbled and Kent busied himself with filling his mug with packets of sugar.

“Would you _believe_ that our very own Jack Zimmermann has never listened to Beyonce before?” Bitty continued. “Lord, this boy. I think we need to correct this tragedy before—”

“Dude, can you shut up about our boss for once?” Kent said, putting his mug down with a heavy _clink._

“Kent,” Bitty said. “This is a perfect opportunity! You’re always going on about the musical education of our coworkers and if we go from the top down we can make so much progress. So, I’m having dinner with him on Friday, and if—”

“God,” Kent said. “Dinner?”

“I think you’re missing the point, dear,” Bitty said. “As I was saying, I need to think of a way to introduce—”

“What the hell are you doing?” Kent said, cutting him off. “He’s your _boss._ There are rules against this sort of thing.” He made a vague gesture as if trying to pull a memory out of the air. “Fraternizing… unprofessional… I don’t know, HR would probably have something to say about it.”

“Really?” Bitty said. “And what about the intern you so professionally took home last summer?”

“That was different.” Kent crossed his arms. Instead of making him look serious, it made him look younger. Like a child who wasn’t getting his way. “We didn’t go to dinner or anything. It wasn’t—”

“A date?”

Kent paused, tilting his head and blinking slowly. “Is that what you’re doing?” he said. “Dating him?”

Bitty scowled. Why did Kent care? Bitty had come to terms with the way Kent was, even if he would never understand. Or want it for him. The need to be in someone’s arms, no matter whose. The need to be coddled and told he was loved by everyone but Bitty, who had been there through all of it. All of it. From when he complained about a bad lay to when he cried that it was never enough. When he went all dark and bitter, spitting at the cupcakes Bitty left at his front door. And now? He had the audacity to—what was this? An intervention?

“All I asked was for you to help me with the Beyonce problem,” Bitty said.

Kent scowled. “Well, that sounds like _your_ problem,” he said and stepped out of the room, leaving his half-filled mug behind. 

* * *

_Eric (4:45pm): movies or bar tonight?_

_Kent (5:01pm): idk gotta finish lots of shit Talia’s been on my case about_

_Eric (5:02pm): Sounds like you, sir, need a break! Club cafe is calling our names! Let’s go dancing!_

_Kent (5:05pm): why don’t you ask your boyfriend?_

_Eric (5:06pm): Between you and me, he doesn’t seem the dancing type. Come on, let’s go!_

_Eric (5:40pm): Kent?_

_Eric (7:02pm): That’s fine. This way I’ll clearly be the best dancer there._

* * *

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Beyonce, a starter pack_
> 
> Eric,
> 
> I’m not sure I’ll get through all of this before your deadline. I need at least another week. You promise there isn’t a quiz at the end of this?
> 
> Jack
> 
> P.s. Dinner again tonight? I made a reservation at that fusion place you mentioned on Monday 

* * *

It was nice. All of it. The dim lights and the soft jazz and the way Jack was so clearly trying to impress him with praises and compliments he didn’t deserve. He liked that Jack acted a gentleman, and looked the part too. That he became so engrossed in talking about his work that his beautiful blue eyes lost focus and trailed off into the salad, hands gesturing while he discussed figures and finance that Bitty didn’t really care to hear, except that his voice was so gentle and smooth. Bitty especially loved the little sputter and flush Jack did when he realized he’d gone down a strange tangent and tried his best to redirect the conversation again.

“So you studied history in college?” Bitty asked.

“And Business,” Jack said. “Double major. Papa wanted me to just study business, you know, focus. But mama wanted me to explore my interests.”

“And you never wanted to go into history instead? Become a professor?”

Jack shrugged and picked at the edge of his breaded chicken. “It wasn’t really a question. I mean, I always wanted to become just like my dad, you know? I never really… considered another option.”

“But your mother thought—”

“She thought I’d like some freedom before I joined the family business,” Jack said. “It was a compromise, the major. Where I went to school too, though my dad won that one. I can’t complain. This is everything I wanted.”

It sounded a little hollow, that statement, but Bitty didn’t push it.

Jack’s eyes flashed in the candlelight and he smirked. “You still need to tell me more about this frat house you lived in at college. A haunted attic, seriously?”

“Oh goodness, you have no clue. Holster always said they were most active when we were all hungover…”

They talked and laughed until the ice cream in their desserts melted to a puddle with the bill forgotten on the edge of the table. About work and school and everything and nothing. Bitty bit his lip and tried not to stare too much at the way Jack’s shoulders filled out his shirt and the way his pants fit over his hips as they finally stood to leave. He tried not to have his fingers linger on his elbow as they stepped out into the rain, but Jack held it tight, bringing his arm around to hide him under his umbrella. And his body was so warm, and in his arms, Bitty felt safe.

And when Jack brought his mouth to his, brief and chaste and oh so kind, Bitty tried his best not to think of Kent. Not to think of how angry he had been, or how nice it was to sit by his side on the couch and not have to worry about anything at all in the world but petting his cat. In the moment Jack’s lips met his, Bitty missed Kent and wished he didn’t. Because Jack’s lips were sweet and soft and made his whole body tingle the whole uber ride home.

* * *

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re:_ 3pm _meeting in the Adams room_
> 
> Only 5 more minutes until we have an hour left of this meeting.
> 
> Jack

  


> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _Re:_ 3pm _meeting in the Adams room_
> 
> Oh my goodness are you emailing me JOKES in the middle of a meeting??
> 
> Eric

  


> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re:_ 3pm _meeting in the Adams room_
> 
> No, I am simply… keeping time during this very important meeting on budget that I definitely have been paying close attention to and am not at all dependent on the secretary’s notes afterword.
> 
> Only 58 minutes left of this riveting meeting.
> 
> Jack

* * *

_Eric (11:05am): We missed last week’s sunday brunch, up for this week?_

_Eric (11:07am): I have new wine and fresh Dennis gossip_

_Kent (12:43pm): maybe next week_

* * *

“Kent keeps calling,” Lardo told him the next week, leaning into Bitty’s room. “He keeps asking about our air conditioning system? The last time I checked it was working fine.”

“Maybe he broke it and he’s feeling guilty,” Bitty said, looking through a pile of dirty sweatshirts for his red Samwell one.

“Maybe he’s just trying to see what you’re up to.”

“Why on earth,” Bitty said, tossing another dirty shirt into the dirty hamper. “He sees me every day in the office.”

Bitty didn’t mention the fact that Kent has only made quick stops at his desk recently, enough to grab a cookie and be gone. Rarely more than a good morning and never enough to ask how he’s been doing. Never enough to invite him over for a movie or even to go with him to the club.

It was fine, Bitty told himself. It was just more free time with Jack.

More time to bury his feelings for Kent with blue eyes and nervous smiles.

_“Why on earth,”_ Lardo mimicked, rolling her eyes. “You have got to talk to that boy.”

Bitty frowned at the pair of dress pants he found, full of wrinkles. “I do not.”

“Next time he calls, would you like me to tell him that, then?”

“I’d—” Bitty said, twisting the pants into a tight ball. They would need to be dry cleaned anyway. “It’s not that I don’t—It’s just complicated.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me,” Lardo said.

Bitty looked up at her, leaning against the threshold with her arms crossed. “Something y’all aren’t telling me?”

Her face was unreadable as she stepped away. “If you don’t ask, is it still a secret?” Lardo said. “Please, just talk to Kent. He’s getting on my nerves.”

* * *

Bitty packed his bag at the end of the day, empty tupperware slotting easily at the bottom. He hoped Jack was already done with his paperwork, his stomach was already grumbling. He hadn’t had time for a real lunch today, stuffing a horrible store-bought energy bar in his mouth in between project meetings. He grabbed his coat, shrugged the strap of his bag over his shoulder, and made his way to the north side of the building.

Across the corridor from Jack’s office, though, Bitty stopped short. Through the glass, he could make out someone else in his office, having some sort of discussion. No—argument. He could see Jack’s mouth drawn into a tight line, tired creases forming on his forehead. He was shaking his head at the other man, whose back was turned to the door. Someone pointing and gesturing exactly like—

Kent.

Bitty couldn’t get closer to hear what they were saying without making himself visible, but from this angle, he could tell this wasn’t the first time they’d argued. Kent had his tells when he was unhappy with a client, or anyone he wasn’t acquainted with. It was a still sort of anger, sharp like daggers exactly where he wanted them. This, though—this was how he argued with Katie or Lardo. How he argued with Bitty. His heart was in the wide movements of his arms and the way he made himself vulnerable.

Bitty wasn’t as familiar with the way Jack handled confrontation, but he had never seen him this upset before. What had happened?

Suddenly, Kent threw up his hands and stormed out of the office, not noticing Bitty as he stalked off in the opposite direction.

Bitty knocked on the door and Jack met his eye. “Oh uh—I’m sorry I—One moment and we can go.”

“Take your time, hun,” Bitty said.

“Did you—did you hear—”

“No, you don’t need to tell me that was about,” Bitty said, looking away.

Jack sighed, a heavy sound. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Now, let’s go. Are you hungry?”

“You have no idea.”

* * *

_Eric (7:11pm): you ok?_

_Kent (7:14pm): why?_

* * *

Being with Jack was having a sturdy hand over his, the sun at his back and a long straight path ahead. It was late dinners and phone calls, always polite and always proper. It was as simple as a relationship with your boss could be, because Jack was everything a boyfriend should be. Capable, steady, and comfortable.

Bitty felt as if Jack had practiced this side of himself. Like he had learned how to interact with others from a manual and sometimes had to stop to think of what to say next. Because there were wrong answers he stepped carefully around that would explode if he made a mistake. Because of that, Bitty felt like there were holes in his knowledge of Jack. Even though Jack told him about his high school, his parents, his hometown, and his college. Of his best friend named Shitty and even of the anxiety he still took medication for. Even after all of this, Bitty still thought there was something missing. Something that made Jack so careful.

It was different than Kent’s way of avoiding talking about himself—a blanket rule he used over everything before college. Something more frustrating, yet more understandable. It was why, to Bitty, Kent was a forever contained fire—too hot to touch, but always needed tending. He was excitement and passion and loyal to a fault.

With Kent, Bitty thought knew the rules. With Jack? It was like he was just missing one key thing.

The puzzle should be easy, but Bitty couldn’t solve it by himself.

He finally called Kent.

* * *

They decided to see a movie, another one of those hundreds of superhero movies Bitty can’t keep track of but Kent somehow has memorized down to the line. They were one of only a few groups there because the movie has been out for a few weeks and got less than stellar reviews (which Kent had failed to mention until they were ten minutes in and Bitty had just as many questions). Still, Kent had already seen it and was whispering a running commentary into Bitty’s ear.

Bitty couldn’t help the smile settling soft and familiar on his lips.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Bitty hissed back. “He can’t just… know how to fight like a professional when he didn’t know he had powers until—”

“Until just now?” Kent said. “I know. But maybe that’s part of the power.”

“The power of… knowledge?”

“And big muscles.”

“Oh gosh, _that’s_ why you took us to this, wasn’t it?” Bitty said.

He could feel Kent shrug against his shoulder. “You have to admit, those thighs…”

Bitty slapped Kent’s arm. “Oh shush.”

“I know how you like your men,” Kent joked.

In the moment they both realized what Kent had said, they slipped into an awkward silence. Something Bitty had never had with Kent before and wished he could magic away. Take them back to when the world beyond the two of them didn’t matter. But Bitty didn’t know what to say to make it better.

He wanted to say yes. _Yes,_ that’s what he wanted. He wanted big thighs and sad eyes that reminded him of the summer sky. Was that so bad? But he also wanted a quick biting tongue and a stitch in his side from laughing for too long. He wanted never-ending mornings with pancakes sticky with maple syrup and wondered if he could be nostalgic for a thing he’d never had.

“I’m sorry,” Kent whispered an hour into the movie, so quiet Bitty thought he’d misheard. But Kent said it again. “I’m sorry I was—I’ve been an idiot.”

Bitty shrugged. He knew Kent could feel the movement against his arm. He knew Kent understood what he meant.

“I’ve been dealing with some of my own shit lately,” Kent said. “And that’s no excuse, but I wish I could explain myself. But right now—I think now, I want you to know I haven’t treated you like I should have.”

A building exploded on the screen. Bitty wasn’t sure if it was the heroes or the villains that caused it.

“You were rather rude,” Bitty said.

“Not just recently,” Kent said.

Bitty shifted in his seat, trying to read Kent’s face in the dark theater. He didn’t know what he meant, but Kent didn’t say anything more.

After the movie, they headed back to Kent’s for red wine and reality TV—a much better combination than subpar popcorn and superheroes in Bitty’s opinion. His ears were still ringing from the sound of supernatural explosions in surround-sound. Kent seemed tentative on the couch like he was trying to figure out how to slide himself back into the life they had mere months ago. Playing pretend at an easy thing. But it was late, and Bitty was tired, nodding off to the sound of Kent humming along to the commercial jingles.

“Let me drive you home,” Kent said, gentle hand on Bitty’s shoulder, half-rousing him from a dream filled with wild daisies and shimmering clouds.

“Don’ wanna,” Bitty groaned. “A gentl’man would offer me a bed.”

He thought he felt Kent tense, but his voice was calm when he said. “And I’m always a gentleman.”

“Liar,” Bitty said, smiling as he let himself be helped off the couch.

“Correct,” Kent said. “But for you, I make exceptions.”

Bitty leaned into Kent’s chest. His heart was beating a strong rhythm Bitty wished he could record and keep with him, always.

Before he knew it, he was in a bed, wrapped in sheets and blankets and slipping quickly into sleep. The warmth of Kent’s presence was a comfort he’d missed. The brush of his fingers over Bitty’s back, the smoothness of his voice as he said goodnight.

The breath on his forehead as Kent leaned down to kiss Bitty on the forehead, just as darkness was taking him.

“Hun,” Bitty said, taking all his effort to stay awake. Just for one more moment. “Why don’t you do that proper?”

And Kent pulled Bitty toward him and they kissed, easy like they’ve both been waiting to for years. 

* * *

The next morning, Bitty woke to the sound of traffic he never hears from his own bedroom. He opened his eyes, blinking at the sun streaming through windows too wide and not adequately draped by curtains.

He knew this bedroom. Knew the books on the bedside table and the light fixture he’d helped pick out from Ikea last year, and the pillows with cat print designs. He knew the sound of the man sleeping next to him. Bitty pinched his eyes shut and breathed out slowly through his nose.

Was this guilt? No, not exactly. He had never had a conversation with Jack that they were exclusive—that any time they spent together meant they couldn’t enjoy the company of others. He knew from the movies that he was supposed to feel like he had done something wrong, and yet, this just felt unfinished. Like strings that had not yet come together in a bow, or a pie before it was baked. He couldn’t leave it like this, that would eat at him and the guilt may come later. But not yet. Not now.

He couldn’t look at Kent sleeping next to him and let himself feel that this wasn’t where he was meant to be.

And yet? When he put his lips to Kent’s sleeping knuckles, he imagined what it would be like to do this with Jack. He thought he’d be a sturdy sleeper like a bear snuggled up to his side.

Bitty slipped out of the covers and padded out the door and into the kitchen. When he made himself coffee, he didn’t have to think about where Kent kept his grounds or his mugs. He already knew Kent would only have soy milk in the fridge, so Bitty made his coffee black. And when the sun glinted perfectly through the window so the steam was visible in enticing curls over his cup, he snapped a picture without thinking, typing out Jack’s name to send it.

What was he doing?

* * *

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Beyonce, advanced reading_
> 
> Eric,
> 
> Remember, the more I’m embarrassed here, the harder I’ll make your WWII refresher quiz.
> 
> Jack

> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _Re: Beyonce, advanced reading_
> 
> Honey,
> 
> Do your worst.

* * *

“There was someone back home,” Kent said, staring into the cup of coffee Bitty made him. “He was everything to me. I thought—I really thought that was it—” Kent shook his head.

“Kent, sweetheart,” Bitty said.

“I was never fair to you because I never trusted myself to feel like that again,” Kent said. “To lose—to let myself lose—”

Bitty leaned into Kent’s side, put his nose into his hair and breathed in.

* * *

Bitty’s life at work returned to normal. Kent at his desk in the mornings, stealing more than his fair share of his baked goods, afternoon gossip rounds on the group chat. And, dinners with Jack.

How long could he keep this up?

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Re:_ overview _of Expo Sports Shop (client #219) meeting_
> 
> 10 more minutes until we have 4 hours left before we can both be free. I promise I’ll try the spicy version this time.

> _Eric Bittle_
> 
> _To: Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _Re: Re:_ overview _of Expo Sports Shop (client #219) meeting_
> 
> I promise it’ll be worth it but I refuse to take any responsibility for the consequences of eating it.

> _Jack Zimmermann_
> 
> _To: Eric Bittle_
> 
> _Re: Re:_ overview _of Expo Sports Shop (client #219) meeting_
> 
> Consequences??

* * *

_Kent (1:02pm): i’ve been having this weird stomach pain for like two hours, am i dying?_

_Eric (1:04pm): webMD says yes. I’ll miss you._

_Kent (1:05pm): >:O_

* * *

Bitty would tell Jack this weekend.

He would.

He’d say… what would he say? That he’s been in love with another man for two years but he never thought it would go anywhere? That he was wrong? But in that time, in these past few months, he’d fallen in love with Jack too?

Bitty shook his head and stared into his open bag of flour. Tea cookies first, relationships later. He needed to remember his priorities.

Lardo was out visiting a friend in Western Mass overnight, so Bitty moved the living room speakers to the kitchen and danced his way through three Beyonce albums as the sink filled up with used bowls and dirty mixing blades. Lardo always complained he got butter on the volume dials when he did it, but she wasn’t around to complain.

It was just him and his music and the… seventeen batches of cookies he’s backed so far.

On to batch eighteen. 

* * *

Jack came for dinner that night and didn’t say more about the stacks and stacks of cookies that littered the kitchen countertops except, “you were busy today.”

“I got carried away,” Bitty said.

They ate dinner and watched a historical romance film Jack recommended and made their way through the first boxful of cookies, all the while Bitty hoped Jack didn’t notice how he was on edge.

He’d tell him.

Soon, he’d explain. He’d find the right moment.

After this movie is done.

When they’ve cleaned up.

When—

The sound of a key at Bitty’s front door makes them both look up from the couch. Maybe Lardo came back early? But that couldn’t be it, she’d texted just a couple hours ago. The only other person with a key was—

Kent.

He stood in the threshold, a pizza box in one arm and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Jack,” Kent said, voice cracking. His eyes found Bitty’s and what was there could only be called betrayal.

“Kent,” Jack said. He’d slid back to his even tone, Bitty could recognize it now. Smooth and perfect and very much trained.

Jack moved to stand, pulling the blanket back and uncrossing his legs. Kent put his things down on the side table. Hard.

“Oh, don’t get up on my account,” Kent said. “I’ll just leave you two to it. I see I’m just imposing.”

“Kent, don’t—” Bitty said, but Jack’s voice overpowered his. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Dramatic,” Kent said. “You are calling _me_ dramatic?”

“You don’t—”

“Right, because calling me down to your office on your first day here to say you _meant business_ and _you’d not accept any distractions_ was real level-headed of you,” Kent said.

“It was what needed to be said,” Jack said.

“Jack?” Bitty said, following him off of the couch. “What’s wrong. I don’t understand—”

Jack ignored him. All his focus was on Kent, still in his jacket by the door. They were like cats, circling each other, reading to claw. Like how Kit would hiss when Bitty would get too near when she was eating her dinner.

“You wouldn’t have ever approached me yourself,” Jack said. “I know you. You would have ignored me until it suited you, playing another one of your silly games—”

“That’s real classy of you, Zimmermann,” Kent said. “Did they teach you to talk down to your employees like that at the fancy schools your daddy sent—”

“My father gave you your job.”

“Only because he felt sorry for me,” Kent said. “Still feels sorry for the poor boy down the street that his son was friends with.”

“That isn’t how he sees you.”

“Isn’t it?” Kent said. He shook his head. “I’m leaving.”

“No,” Bitty said, grabbing Kent’s hand before he could escape. Leave, like he did from every one of those one night stands he’d scattered behind him these years Bitty had known him. He wouldn’t let it happen to him, in his home. He wouldn’t let Kent disappear.

Kent’s hand was warm in his. Eventually, his fingers curled around his in a quick squeeze.

“Please,” Bitty said. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

If Jack was wary of this intimacy between them, he didn’t say a thing.

Jack and Kent—Bitty had known they had some sort of connection, more than simple co-workers. But what was this? He couldn’t understand.

There was heat here, somewhere floating in the air. He couldn’t trace it.

“Will _one of you_ tell me what on God’s green earth is going on here?” Bitty said.

“Jack?” Kent prompted. “Your _boyfriend_ asked—”

“Nothing is going on,” Jack said.

Kent huffed. “What went on was Jack was being an ass to you when he first got here!” Kent said. “Who do you think _told_ him to make it better? To apologize for being a fucking robot. I didn’t think it’d end up like… this…” he gestured between Bitty and Jack.

“I _meant_ what’s going on between you two,” Bitty said. "This isn't about me."

"How could it not be?" Kent said.

“Nothing is going on,” Jack said again.

“No,” Kent said. Kent’s hand fell from Bitty’s as he took a step toward Jack. “If you had cared about more than appearances,” Kent said, more solid and sure than he’d sounded before, “you’d have talked to me for real. That first time, or any of those times. Talked to me like you’d cared at all.”

It was the first time Jack looked stricken.

Kent took another step forward. “You never gave me a chance to say anything,” he said. “You never wanted to listen.”

"I did listen," Jack said.

"To me telling you to be nice to your fucking staff," Kent said. "But not about us." 

“You didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know,” Jack said, but he sounded unsure. His eyes traced over Kent’s whole body now, like he’d finally seen him. Noticed that he was really here, with his cowlick curling over his forehead and green shirt Bitty had made him buy when he noticed they brought out his eyes and trembling hands.

And oh, Bitty could see it coming together. All of those pieces he’d been missing before, slotting in one by one.

Kent was so close to Jack, they could have been dancing.

“I told you not to make the same mistakes,” Kent said.

Jack swallowed. “You told me not to see Bitty.”

“I was looking out for him,” Kent said.

“He looks out for himself just fine,” Jack said. “I didn’t force myself over. I’ve never forced anyone to do anything they didn’t want—”

“You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

“What you meant when you pushed me away—”

Oh, those words sounded so familiar. Bitty could hear them, said in tangents and hand waving deflections for the past two years. _Don’t get too close, I just push people away._

“I didn’t!” Kent said. “I _let you go_ when you got into that fucking school because _what was I supposed to do?_ I couldn’t let you sacrifice your future—”

“Of course,” Jack said. “You blame it on me. Was that how I was supposed to take _don’t ever come by my place again,_ because there are other ways to say that, Kenny.”

Kent shut his eyes like the light was suddenly blinding and he’d had too much. “Please,” he said. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh,” Bitty said, a small gasp under his breath.

And the puzzle pieces in Bitty’s mind fell into place, just like that. The silences, the gaps, the things in both Kent and Jack that he could never touch. Kent’s refusal to talk about their boss and Jack’s refusal to even say Kent’s name. The way they were looking at each other now like it hurt, but they couldn’t look away. Everything was all here, right now, in this too-small room.

Jack stepped forward. “Kenny,” he said again, his voice growing deeper. The sound of it pricked something in Bitty’s gut. “You can’t just make things disappear.”

“You, I did,” Kent said.

Jack shook his head. “Not really.”

“Oh,” Bitty said again, breath escaping his lips. Jack and Kent both turn to look. “Oh, I—I know this is rather crude, but this does make things much easier for me.”

“What?” Kent said.

“Oh goodness, both of you just need to get over yourselves. Kent, hun, join us on the couch for this movie. Jack can fill you in on what you’ve missed so far.”

“I don’t think we’re done here—” Jack said.

“Oh, no. We’re not going to be done for quite a while,” Bitty said. “But we all need to calm down first. Jack, you sit there. And Kent, yep just take your normal… ok, see? All better. Now we’ll sit and watch this terrible excuse for a movie.”

“Movie?” Kent said, voice airy like he’d just woken from a dream. “Is that the one with the world war one hero who returns from war and—”

“Don’t spoil it,” Jack said.

“But we haven’t—”

“Shush,” Bitty said. “Movie now, then we talk.”

Bitty pressed play and let the rolling hills of the French countryside and over-acted dialogue fill the room. It was better than the sounds of Kent and Jack fighting. Or, Kent and Jack on the verge of... what? 

To Bitty, it looked like they were on the verge of jumping each other too. And would that have been so bad? Maybe, if they were just acting out another tragedy. 

An hour through, Bitty’s phone buzzed: 

_Kent (11:01pm): Jack and I dated for two years in high school. Four, if you count the times we slept together after he left for college. I never forgave him for leaving, even if I told him to go._

_Kent (11:02pm): I should have just said it from the beginning_

_Kent (11:02pm): I'm a terrible source of gossip, huh?_

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed again.

_Jack (11:14pm): It was my fault we stopped talking, me and Kent. I thought I was doing him a favor. I was sure he’d find someone else easily._

_Jack (11:15pm): I’m sorry I never told you._

When the screen faded to black and the credits started to roll, Bitty was the first one who spoke.

“Are we all ready to talk now?”

Jack looked sheepish and Kent merely nodded. And so, they talked, like two boys from high school never learned how to. Until the early hours of the morning, they talked without worrying that they would all fall apart. Bitty baked midnight cookies and served them with tea so they could keep their eyes open as each said their piece. 

It was different to say things out loud. Different than screens and phones and scribbled paper.

"I asked for things you couldn't give," Kent said, then looked at Bitty. "Both of you." 

Bitty hummed and snuggled into the blankets. 

"I didn't know how to say sorry," Jack said. Kent looked toward the window and into the black. 

"I saw you both only for what you were to me," Bitty said. "Not for who you were to anybody else." 

Jack rubbed his neck and closed his eyes. 

“When you first showed up here, I wished you would just leave,” Kent said to Jack. “I wished more than anything else that I didn’t still feel—didn’t look at you and think, what if—”

Before he could finish, Jack kissed him. He brought his strong arms around Kent’s shoulders and Kent simply melted, hands grasping at Jack’s shirt. To Bitty, it was like watching the sunrise, lights and darks swirling into color. 

* * *

_Kent (10:21am): sunday brunch?_

_Eric (10:23am): Of course. Jack, because I don’t trust you with the choice of cheese, you are on alcohol duty_

_Kent (10:23am): savage bits_

_Jack (10:25am): I’ll prove myself soon_

_Kent (10:25am): don’t count on it. I’m still not allowed to buy butter_

_Eric (10:27am): you bought MARGARINE_

_Kent (10:31am): it was ONCE and I was drunk_

_Jack (10:35am): so… beer, or…?_

_Eric (10:36am): goodness, I change my mind. Kent, you’re on alcohol duty_

* * *

Bitty ended up on the floor of the kitchen again, two weeks later, crying into a bag of flour cradled in his lap. This time, though, it was different. It was Kent’s kitchen, with its endless sunlight and scent of coffee and cat hair tangled in the unswept corners under the dishwasher. This time, his tears were from the laughter.

“Jack,” Bitty wheezed, clutching his side. “Jack, hun, you can’t just—”

“Say shit like that?” Kent supplied.

“Say what?” Jack said, eyebrows rising slowly. “What did I say?”

“Look at him,” Kent said. “He’s so… innocent.”

_“Acting_ innocent, I don’t believe those puppy dog eyes one lil’ bit.”

Jack’s lips broke into a grin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “I just suggested that some of those icing bags you have could be put to use—”

Kent shook his head. “Don’t say it—”

“—in the bedroom when we—”

“Unsanitary!” Bitty said. “Sir, you have stepped too far—”

Jack continued, “—as Kenny so eloquently put it, _lick that like_ —”

Kent didn’t let him finish. He grabbed Jack around the middle, twisting him down to the floor so they were scrabbling in the cloud of flour Bitty had already spilled across the floor. He felt as if he should say something about proper conduct in the kitchen—about the dangers of knives and fires and how the first loaf of bread would be ready to come out any second now—but he realized he didn’t care. He couldn’t get himself to look away from the two men, acting more like boys in this moment, squealing and laughing on the floor and looking into each other’s eyes like they couldn’t see anything else.

Anything except—

“Bits,” Kent said, rolling over onto his back and craning his neck to where Bitty sat. He smiled a wicked grin. “You don’t seem to have enough flour in _your_ hair yet.”

“Excuse me?” Bitty said.

Jack shared a look with Kent. “I agree,” he said, touching the tip of one lock of his own brown hair now streaked with white dust. “We all have to match.”

“Oh no,” Bitty said, scooting back. “No, sir, you are not—”

But before he could escape, Jack and Kent enveloped him with their arms and tugged him down. He giggled and squirms and bathed in their attention. His boys. Both of them.

The timer dinged on the counter.

And it smelled of basil and a long exhale. Peace.


End file.
